The Healer's Gift by Willa Blair

her nearly sent her to her knees, but she forced herself to stay on her feet, wary, as the guards sorted out the other prisoners.
    Logen jumped down from the high table’s platform and slowly approached the grim-faced leader. “MacMakon, what do ye think ye’re doing? Let the lass go!”
    Logen’s voice cut through Coira’s shock. She took a breath.
    Some women slowly pulled the remaining children away from the confrontation as the men in the crowd moved toward it. To Coira, it felt like a tide, surging and receding. Logen waved them to stillness.
    “Keep back!” MacMakon glared at the men near him, most of whom were fingering their weapons. Then he turned his attention back to Logen, who still stood too far away to reach him. “Dinna try it. I’ll cut her throat if any of ye takes another step.”
    Coira closed her eyes to the scene before her and focused on MacMakon’s voice. What she sensed chilled her. He wasn’t afraid! He kept his excitement hidden, but it churned like turbulence deep below the surface. He was enjoying the confrontation with Logen and the rapt attention of the clan. Coira opened her eyes and studied the hand that held the dirk. Aye, she could see a fine tremor, evidence of his exhilaration.
    “If ye dinna wish to die right here,” Logen told him, “ye’ll let the lass go.”
    “I’ll let her go when I’m outside the gates.”
    “Do ye think I’ll let ye leave? Or trust ye to release her? Nay, she’s just a bairn. Let her be.”
    “Get my horse ready to ride. I’ll no’ tell ye twice.”
    Coira took a step closer, dismay making her belly roil. Could she calm him? Lull him into dropping the blade? She would try anything to save the lass, but she had to control herself first—the very thing she’d been unable to do that awful night in the Lathan hall.
    After a deep breath, she stepped forward before anyone else could react. “Let her go. Take me instead.”
    She felt the spike of surprise of the people in the room like spray splashing off of rocks. And Logen’s fear for her—an arc of lightning in a stormy sky. His gaze cut to hers, then back to the man he faced.
    “Nay,” Logen waved her back. “Ye willna. No one will leave here.”
    She ignored Logen’s order. She would save this lass to make up for what she had done at the Lathan keep. Her memory of the horror of that night overlaid what she saw now with her own eyes. Her hands trembled as she reached out to the lass. “Come away. I will take yer place.” She locked gazes with MacMakon. “I will ride with ye until ye are a safe distance from the keep.”
    She fought to keep her voice low and calm, to find the lassitude that might ease the tension in the room. If anyone else rushed MacMakon, the lass would die before Coira could free her. She pictured the sea, flat and calm, the cloudless blue sky, nary a breeze to ruffle her hair.
    As her belly settled, MacMakon’s tremors stilled. The lass in his arms looked heavy-lidded, ready to fall asleep, where moments before she had been wide-eyed with terror.
    “Coira…”
    She kept her gaze on MacMakon. She dared not look at Logen. All her effort must remain focused on the man and the child.
    “Please release her,” she pleaded. “Ye can take me. We’ll walk out to the bailey. I willna fight ye. No’ a man will stop us.”
    She sensed Logen moving nearer to her, but keeping his distance, not threatening MacMakon. Aye, Logen remembered, and knew what she was trying to do.
    “Ye’ll slow my mount. The lass is lighter.”
    Logen’s voice broke the sudden stillness. “Ye lads, go saddle his horse,” he commanded. “Quickly now.”
    “It’s being done,” Coira assured MacMakon, never taking her gaze from his. She felt his tension ebb as his shoulders dropped and the blade moved a finger’s width away from the lass’s throat. Coira took a slow step forward. When MacMakon failed to react, she took another. She got close enough to touch him. But dare she do that,